


King and Lionheart

by Unknown



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2013-10-17
Packaged: 2017-12-29 15:38:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unknown/pseuds/Unknown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Jon didn't leave for the Wall and Robb wins the war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	King and Lionheart

**Author's Note:**

> Done originally on my blog over on tumblr called youngwolfandthebastard. Go check it out!

It goes like this: Catelyn asks Jon not to go to the wall so that they can have some extra help around Winterfell while Ned is gone. Jon has never been good at disobeying her, so he agrees, and he wonders if it was his Uncle Benjen who suggested it to the woman or if it was his father who did it, knowing how Jon would react. Either way, a small piece of him that hoped it would be something breaks away in his soul and dies when his dream of the Wall is taken from him.

Robb is ecstatic as the days pass though and Jon is still there, and Jon must at least admit that he’s glad to have that. Spending warm nights in his brother’s bedchamber unafraid that they’ll get caught because Catelyn is too busy doing other things to check on Robb and the girls are with their father, Bran still asleep, Rickon too young to wonder off on his own. He savors those moments, and so does Robb, he thinks.

Because soon, oh so soon, his brother is off to war.

King in the North, they call him. The Young Wolf. Bran wakes only to find his mother and their brother gone, Catelyn painstakingly leaving the care of Winterfell to the Bastard son she never wanted Ned to have, leaving express orders that should Bran awake, all titles were to be returned to him. But Bran is young and mourning the loss of their father, and he doesn’t want them, so Jon holds the fort down at home.

Months pass. The war continues, Jon feels his heart ache with every raven he does and doesn’t receive from Robb. At one point, his brother names him the heir to his throne and Jon doesn’t sleep for days, knowing that this is what is left of them.

Catelyn dies soon after in a betrayal by the Freys, and Robb slays the majority of the family he can get his hands on. He himself is wounded by a spear to the chest, and Jon awaits the day with dread that he receives a raven naming him the new King of the North. It never comes. He has never been so grateful and he cannot wait to see Robb again.

But wars take time, years even, and by the time Robb wins his, taking King’s Landing with Renley Beratheon on the throne in the South and he to sit on the throne in the North, Jon is older, more seasoned on how to run a city, how to run Winterfell. Bran is almost a man, still unable to walk, but making peace with it and Rickon is beginning his journey, finally. The girls had been sent back to Winterfell at some point, and Sansa is soon to be married to a Southern house of her choice, a gorgeous, delicate young woman, ready to be a bride. Arya takes the path of Brienne and Jon lets her, supports her even, watches her turn into a better knight than most of the realm. She’s proud and serves as Jon’s guard, though he doesn’t need one and encourages her to greater things. Arya wants to serve their brother when he’s back and King. Jon tries not to think about it.

He’d wanted to go to Robb. So many ravens he’d sent, so many horses he’d prepare but the answer from Robb had always been the same:  _Stay._

 Jon doesn’t think much about that one morning, praying in the Godswood to the old gods his father put so much stock in once upon a time. He stands and makes his way back to the inner fortress walls, unaware of the rush of riders coming upon Winterfell until he meets them up at the gate. The head of the party wears a hood over his head, and his horse prances in the snow, its hooves unaccustomed to the cold.

A Southerner, Jon thinks. And maybe, the war hasn’t stayed as far away from Winterfell as he had hoped.

His sword springs out and Jon takes his twenty-five winters, seven years having passed since the blasted fighting first started and he has protected his home all that time. He sends up a shrill whistle to the city wall’s guards and smiles in grim satisfaction as he hears the alarms for their in-house soldiers to come to arms. If they need more help, Jon has no doubt that Bran will easily dispatch someone to round up a few of their banner-men from surrounding towns.

“If you’re here to take Winterfell on behalf of whatever lord or master you serve, think again,” Jon says, his voice booming across to the hooded figure. There are other men coming up the road to Winterfell, and he needs to cut this off now before it gets to be too much. “Who are you?” Jon yells. “Who  _are_  you?!” His blade comes close to the figures neck where he is on his horse.

The hood falls off and Jon’s sword falls to the ground. “Is that anyway to treat your brother?”

Robb’s hair is a steel grey from all his stressful days on the battlefield. His face is young, the same age as Jon’s, and his eyes are still that beautiful blue, still kind though weary and worn. He swings down from his horse and Jon takes a step back in shock then rushes forward with tears beading at the corners of his eyes. Their embrace is tight and warm, and Robb presses his face into the skin of Jon’s neck.

“Oh gods, I’ve missed you so,” and the words are mouthed onto Jon’s skin, whispered into his soul. He holds Robb tighter. “I’ve come home.”

“So you have,” Jon chokes out, just as the other soldiers come. There are hundreds of men, most just stopping by Winterfell for provisions before making their way to their own home-towns. Jon knows hundreds have been left in their towns coming up as it is.

Later, after Sansa has cried and clung to Robb’s tired form, babbling about her betrothed and their apparent happiness; after Robb has kneeled by Bran and congratulated him on a job well done helping Jon to keep their home safe and organized, even in his disabled state; after Rickon at 13 winters, still lets his older twirl him around in a hug as he lets out peals of laughter; after Arya drops her sword and mask of professionalism to hug her brother and promptly drop to her knees, pledging her service and sword to him, the only King she’ll serve; after all of this is said and done, Jon and Robb lay in bed together, sated and soaked with sweat. New marks have been mapped on each other’s bodies, new stories have been told. They haven’t said everything that needs saying, or done everything that needs doing, but for tonight, it is enough.

“I never stopped missing you,” Jon says softly into the night.

“And I never stopped missing you,” Robb responds, carding a hand through Jon’s hair.

“You didn’t have to, you know,” Jon says, finally voicing what he’s been feeling for seven years. “You could have asked me to come fight with you. I  _belonged_  with  _you_. I  _still_  belong with  _you_ ,” and with that, Jon takes Robb’s hand and presses it to his chest, right above his heart.

“I needed you here, where I knew you were safe, where I knew everyone I cared about would be taken care of. And you did not disappoint,” Robb says with a chuckle. He kisses Jon soundly on the lips. “And now you can take care of me, an old king that will refuse to marry, because he is so sick of wars, and marriage is just another form of it.”

Jon smiles at that. “Thank the gods a bastard son isn’t expected to marry either.”

“And why is that?” Robb asks.

“Because that means,” Jon starts, climbing on top of Robb and straddling his hips with his legs, “I’m not going anywhere.” When he leans down to kiss Robb, they both groan. “And we have  _so_ much catching up to do.”


End file.
